The Captain & The Train
by WhalesForSale
Summary: Post Winter Solider, the Avengers are called to reassemble in South Korea. Steve and Natasha must work fast to unravel a secret that has been hidden for over 50 years which links their past and threatens the stability of the future. Throughout their perilous journey, Steve is forced to confront his hidden feelings about Natasha.
1. Chapter 1: Time

**_WARNING: This story will involve violence, language and past rape. Not all warnings or tags will apply to this story until later chapters. If you've read my other fics, then yep I do like trains and hotels ;-D They can be quite useful!_**

Please Read &amp; Review, I like to see things from different angles. Crit of all kinds welcome.

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**The Captain &amp; The Train  
**by WhalesForSale

**1400 HOURS**  
Gwangju, South Korea

Steve Rogers sat on a train speeding towards Gimhae, South Korea, final destination: Seoul. He had been spellbound for the last hour, watching the landscape zip past them. Tucked into in a little 4-seater alcove, he was the only occupant and preferred it that way. Not that he didn't enjoy company, but ever since the takedown of S.H.I.E.L.D. he'd had a bit too much "company" to suit him. Women threw themselves at him so often and shamelessly that it was a turnoff, men hushed in awe when he walked into a room, fanboys would nervously seek him out to sign plastic replicas of his shield, and not a few ex-HYDRA/S.H.I.E.L.D agents (or whatever they were calling themselves these days) had tried to kill him and Sam.

Steve was tired of it all.

In his pocket was a burner phone with the information to get to Stark Industries satellite office in Seoul where the entire team would assemble. _The Avengers_. If Steve was honest, he was excited for the change in pace. He and Sam had been tracking Bucky with the breadcrumbs that Natasha had given them over 7 months ago, and they both needed a break. Sam had gone back to take care of things at home and visit his family. He wasn't a member of the Avengers, but had agreed to be "on-call" should the need arise.

Steve was excited, though admittedly he didn't care much for trains.

**1800 HOURS**  
Gimhae, South Korea

Cold water trickled down Steve's face and he reached for a paper towel. He made sure to keep his head down away from the mirror. He was more relaxed than he'd been while tracking Bucky, but he would be a fool to assume that everyone who recognized him would be friendly. He wasn't sure that any of them had fully considered the implications that outing HYDRA/S.H.I.E.L.D would have. A lot of unassuming people had been publically declared as traitors, many had died in the battle, and those who were left had lost their jobs. That meant a lot of people were feeling anywhere from mildly annoyed to murderous towards him.

After drying his hands he settled his NY Yankees cap back on his head. It might scream _American_! but since he towered over 98% of the population anyway, he guessed it didn't make much of a difference. He wore a loose windbreaker over dark blue khakis and though he usually favored tan, he needed to be more low-key than usual. He checked his watch and then his fly before heading out of the men's room. _1807 hours where the hell is Natasha?_

Natasha was supposed to have gotten on the train 30 minutes ago when it stopped in Gimhae, meet up with him and continue to Daejeon where Stark kept an apartment. As instructed, they would spend the next day and night in Daejeon before taking another train to Seoul to meet the team. They'd both flown into separate airports to reduce the chance of an enemy discovering that the world's superheroes were gathering en masse. Of course that meant that he had to take a longer and more circuitous route to Seoul than he'd prefer, but when safety was involved, he'd do whatever it took. Everything had seemed so much easier when they had access to Quintjets.

Steve glanced again at his watch. He knew Natasha could take care of herself, but deep in his gut he was starting to get worried.

**1630 HOURS**  
Gimhae International Airport  
Gimhae, South Korea

Natasha knew she was being tracked as soon as she got through Customs. There were only two agents—she assumed NIS—which surprised the hell out of her. She was getting old for a spy, but not _that _old. She didn't know what their game was—security was tight as shit at that airport.

Natasha followed her own protocol when being followed and walked at a normal pace through the international baggage claim. She could see the woman with the short hair in her periphery weaving slowly through the crowds, taking care not to move with her in parallel tandem. Natasha readjusted her black bugout bag on her shoulder and casually looked to her right. There was a stocky, nondescript man dressed in street clothes slowly pacing back and forth in front of the exit doors, trying to look aloof. Even if his military grade combat boots hadn't screamed non-civilian,the way his eyes kept scanning the crowd in grids was a dead giveaway.

"Get it together Korea," Natasha chided underneath her breath, and smoothly pivoted towards the women's restroom.

If they were going to engage her—which she couldn't imagine they'd be stupid enough to do in the middle of an airport—then she'd need a weapon. Preferably _weapons_. The shitty fact about flying as a civilian is that walking through security with a weapon is very tricky and dangerous. One day Natasha wanted to pack a Glock 32 just to see what TSA would do, but in the meantime she needed to get low and do it fast.

The women's restroom had a long corridor of stalls, at least 15 deep on each side. There were women occupying several of the stalls and at least another five freshening themselves at the sinks. Natasha eyed them all quickly before ducking into one of the stalls furthest from the door. She worked with an unconscious speed that spoke of years of practice, and had her bag hanging unzipped in seconds.

She pulled out two titanium reinforcement ribs from the middle compartment and set to work. Just because it's _tricky_ to fly with a weapon, doesn't mean that it's impossible. The ribs were chemically treated with a fingerprint resistant finish and had identical shapes punched into them—a blade and a handle. She popped out two pieces and fitted them together, forming a push dagger. The weapons were made in the shape of a T. The handle fit snuggly in her balled fist, while the thin neck of the blade protruded up between her middle fingers. The base of the blade was smooth and formed to the curve of her knuckles. The blade itself was in the shape of a short, wide triangle, meant to be used with a punch. But Natasha's blade was altered. Instead of the being double edged and tapering to a sharp point, her edges were dull and came to an abrupt end, as if the tip had been snapped off. Though this design could be used to kill, its main purpose was to immobilize an opponent by narrowing the impact surface area. A deft punch to a single area such as the temple, for instance, could render an opponent unconscious with minimal effort.

Natasha was all about deft, minimal effort. She was in a foreign country in an international airport, and if she spilled blood or killed anybody, there was going to be a problem. She slipped a blade up each of her jacket sleeves and shouldered her bag. With a hand pressed to the stall door she listened cautiously before opening it.

A toilet flushed and a woman noisily blew her nose, but the rest of the women's voices were already fading as they left the restroom. Natasha opened the door and stepped out. Only three women were left in the restroom, including a cleaning lady—but no sign of her shadow.

Natasha rinsed her hands in the sink, surreptitiously watching the other women in the mirror. The two young women tossed their paper towels in the waste bin and bobbed their heads respectfully to the cleaning lady who returned the gesture. The cleaning lady, a woman several years older than Natasha, with hair pulled into a tight bun, continued to clean and keep a polite distance from Natasha's side of the restroom.

Surprised that the woman from baggage claim hadn't followed her in, Natasha began to make her way back out. The cleaning lady's supply cart was parked just inside the restroom door and as the two young women pushed the door open, she saw a floor sign outside written in Korean and English that read: _Restroom Closed for Cleaning_.

That was when the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Before having a conscious thought, Natasha was already spinning to the right, both daggers dropping soundless into her palms. She didn't see the gun swinging into play, because she was still turning back towards the cleaning lady—even as her right arm moved in an upwards arc to drive the blade home into her collarbone.

The woman blocked the blade deftly the same instant that she pulled the trigger, and the gun went off with a soft _thwap_. Blinding pain ricocheted up the side of Natasha's neck and instantly numbed her left arm from the shoulder down. Fingers numbed, her second dagger clattered uselessly to the floor.

Natasha staggered back and quickly glanced down at her limp arm. Instead of finding a ragged bullet hole, she saw a black dart protruding from her shoulder. A dart only meant one thing: someone wanted her alive. Suddenly the woman was on her again. She leapt at Natasha with a spinning hook kick, aimed at her head.

Natasha dodged the kick clumsily and it landed on her shoulder instead, snapping the dart off at the base and driving the needle deep into her bone. The pain was excruciating and it was all she could do not to cry out. The woman backhanded her hard across the jaw and drove a hammer fist into her side. All of Natasha's air left her with a soft _whoosh_ and she doubled up, dropping to one knee. Something was wrong. She'd fought one-handed before and though it was ungainly and awkward, she shouldn't be this slow. Her mind was still predicting the woman's moves, but her body was not responding at normal speed.

_Got-dammit pull it together!_

Natasha realized with a sinking feeling that if she didn't find a way to end this fight quickly, then she would not be leave the restroom on her own will. Natasha blinked slowly as if trying to clear her vision. Her breathing began to slow as she sank down heavily onto both knees, swaying back and forth. The woman approached her cautiously.

"The fuck did you do, Korea?" she growled hoarsely. The woman smiled and came a little closer.

"Just a sedative. Don't look so worried, you're in good hands…for now." Her voice was soft and she spoke with a flawless American accent. But something was a little off. Each word was a little _too_ clipped, a little _too _precise, almost guttural. A shiver ran up her spine. It sounded almost..._Russian_.

"Who—" Natasha fell on her side with a grunt. Her eyelids were heavy and she struggled to sit up.

"Old friends," she answered indulgently. Still several feet back, the woman slowly began to drop her guard, but it was all the opening Natasha needed. Natasha came up on one knee and with all the strength she had to bear, drove her push dagger into the woman's kneecap. The patella crunched and shattered. The woman was already stepping back even before Natasha's blow was complete, before even the strangled shriek was past her lips. That was a mistake.

She was swinging her weight back onto her ruined knee, which couldn't support it. Instead of locking to hold her weight, it hyperextended. Natasha heard both ligaments go _pop-pop _in quick succession before the woman fell backwards, her face a contortion of agony—

—_What's wrong with the floor? _Natasha wondered. She felt something soft giving underneath her and looked down. Her eyes widened in shock—she was kneeling on the woman's throat. _When the fuck did that happen?_

She didn't at all remember crossing the distance between them and beginning the slow business of suffocating her. Kneeling on the throat with gradual, increasing pressure was a quiet and effective way to suffocate someone without crushing their windpipe. Natasha removed her knee and in that moment she nearly panicked. The goal was _not_ _to kill_. Had she done it? The woman drew a ragged, pitiful breath, and Natasha relaxed—marginally.

She left the woman sitting propped up on a toilet in a locked stall. It took more time and energy than she really had to spare to drag and lift her bodily with only one working arm, but she couldn't be left sprawled on the floor for someone to find. Before crawling out of the stall Natasha leaned in close and whispered, "Tell my _friends_ I said hey."

After double checking that she had all of her belongings, Natasha swung her bag back onto her shoulder and walked out of the restroom as steadily as could be managed—

—"Miss? Miss, I take?" the driver asked reaching for her black bag. The sun stood high in the clear sky. The air was unseasonably warm and thick with exhaust fumes. Taxis, shuttles, cars and buses honked and swarmed through the area. The sight and sounds hit her like a cattle prod and she flinched. Natasha gaped at him.

"Miss? I take?" he asked again, looking a little irritated. She was standing on the curb at international arrivals. She gaped at it all. _Oh my God. I'm losing time._


	2. Chapter 2: Waits

**Chapter 2: Waits  
**

**1835 HOURS**  
Dining Car  
Destination: Daejeon, South Korea

Jesus, God the meat pasty was _good_. Steve licked a bit of buttery crust off the back of his knuckle and considered buying a fourth. He sat at the bar inside the small dining car. It was crowded at this hour with patrons from all over the globe jostling for tables. If you're trying to be discreet, then crowds are your best friend. But if you're trying to be discreet _and_ are slightly paranoid about getting a quick knife to the kidney, then every stranger who brushes past you will induce a mild heart attack.

Steve was neither of those, but still kept scanning the crowd, looking for Natasha. He saw a flash of red hair and started. _That her?_ The woman turned around and caught him looking. A slow smile formed on her full lips—an invitation. Steve's heart thudded a little, but it wasn't Natasha. He smiled back and gave an apologetic shrug. She pouted prettily at him across the room before turning back to her table.

"Damnit!" he cursed under his breath.

"I'm sorry sir? You like more meat pasty?" the young woman behind the bar asked. She couldn't have been more than 20, with small delicate features and a nose that was almost a little too bold. Her name tag read: Mindy.

Steve knew that many folks working abroad or in tourism often took Western names to bypass awkward foreigners butchering their real one. Sam thought it was hilarious that they chose names that were considered old school, but Steve liked it. He found it comforting to come in contact with people who had names that were familiar to him like Frank, Helen or Ethel. Most people had ridiculous names these days. What chance did a man have in life if his father named him _Jaguar_?

"…Sir?"

_To hell with it._

"I'll take two more. One for here and one to go, ma'am."

The bartender bobbed her head politely. "Yes, as you like."

**1850 HOURS**  
Destination: Daejeon, South Korea

Nearly back to his seat, Steve frowned down at the grease stain the last pasty had left on his shirt. He rubbed the spot vigorously with the borrowed cloth napkin that he'd dipped in club soda.

"Well that's not gonna come out anytime soon."

Steve's head snapped up. "_Natasha_?" She was casually slouched in his seat, with her body facing the window. She wore tight black jeans tucked into knee high boots, and her hair was tucked under the hoodie she wore underneath her black leather jacket—which he was surprised to see was now blonde, not red.

"Hey there," she smiled up at him coquettishly. "Come sit." The way she held herself was slightly awkward, as if she were protecting her left arm.

Steve dropped the bag of food on the opposite seat and sat down next to her. His relief at seeing her was warring with his irritation at being kept waiting and worried. "Natasha, where were you?"

Natasha gave him her small, playful smile. "Exploring. Did you know these trains have emergency life rafts at every exit? I tried, but I haven't figured out why…"

"You were supposed to meet me here over an hour ago." He leaned in close and whispered fiercely, "Where were you? Did something happen or do you just like being irritating?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "You've had onions recently." She nodded towards the bag, her green eyes dancing. "What's in the bag, Cap?"

"What happened?"

"I'm starving. I haven't eaten since, well like all day."

Steve ground his teeth and snatched up the bag. He'd forgotten how maddening she could be. "Tell me what happened after you eat," he said with all the patience he could muster. "Alright?"

Again she gave him that little smile, which just knotted his guts in worry. He dropped the bag in her lap. She used her right hand to open it and peered in. "Mmmm, meat pasty. Nothing like ground unidentified meat baked until golden brown to make one's mouth water." She took a deep sniff, "Intoxicating."

"Look if you don't want it, you don't have to have it," he said feeling annoyed and made to take it back.

Natasha waved him off. "Calm down Rogers, I said I was starving. If ground kitten's what's for dinner, then gimme a plate."

"Wait, what?"

"Nevermind," she smirked. And then under her breath, "I just hope Simba was organic."

Steve watched her eat and began to narrow his eyes. "You know," she said around a mouthful of pasty which was actually quite delicious—but she'd never admit _that_ aloud, "you watching me eat every bite of food is creeping me out. Just a touch."

"What's wrong with your arm, Natasha?" he asked without preamble. "You haven't moved it at all since I got here."

Natasha finished chewing and nodded. "Yeah, I'm trying to work that out myself. It's beginning to wear off though, I'm starting to feel my fingers again."

Steve gaped at her, astonished. "What?" Without thinking, he grabbed her arm and pulled it towards him. Natasha hissed and shoved him back, cradling her elbow. "_Jesus_ Rogers!"

"Shit, is it broken?"

"No," she spat, breathing heavily through her nose, "but the needle broke off in my rotator cuff. If I move my shoulder it's like a shard of hellfire. Other than that, not so bad."

"Needle? Natasha who attacked—" he hastily looked around and lowered his voice, "—who attacked you?"

The half-eaten pasty lay on the floor between them. Natasha took a deep breath and relaxed as the pain passed. She smiled at him then, but it suddenly seemed very weary.

"Nat…" he pressed.

"I got jumped in a restroom at the airport. There were two NIS ops trailing me outside of Customs, but when I went into the restroom to arm up, they sent in someone who I didn't see coming from a mile away. I think the needle must've hit a nerve. The more I move my arm, the more I can feel my fingers, just hurts like hell when I do it. Also been making me extremely tired—that's why it took me so long to get here. I…I've been losing time."

Steve looked puzzled. "I don't understand."

"One minute I'm in the taxi and then all of a sudden I'm standing in the first-class railcar with no memory of boarding the train, let alone getting out of the taxi. It must be the sedative, because it's been happening since she shot me. I'm usually not very affected by them."

"But why would NIS attack you? Have you worked on this side of the fence before?"

"Yes, but always _with_ them." She looked into the distance and frowned. "That's something else I can't figure out. She said she was sent by my 'old friends.' And she…"

"What?"

"She was Korean, but she—Steve I could swear she sounded Russian."

"Hmm," Steve nodded, considering. "We'll have to puzzle that out later. In the meantime we've got to wait until we get to the apartment before I can take the needle out. You think you can hold up until then?"

"I'm alright, Cap." But Steve knew it was bravado.

"No, you're not alright. You should go to sleep. We've got a good two and a half hours before we hit our stop." In all truth Natasha looked exhausted. There were probably trace amounts of the sedative still leaking out through the broken needle.

"Aww but I'm enjoying us getting caught up!" she mocked.

His patience was running thin. "Natasha, go to sleep," he said sternly. She smiled at him then. A tired, melancholy thing, full of secrets and pain. All of a sudden he felt very guilty for being so hard with her. She was always either forward, brash, rude, cold, playful, or coy or a combination of all of the above. It was easier to handle her when he was in command and there was protocol to follow. But when it was just the two of them, like it was on the drive to Camp Lehigh, it put him off balance and he never quite knew how to react. So, he generally settled on being austere or defensive just to prove that her witty jabs weren't getting to him. But they did get to him, for reasons he wasn't fully ready to admit to.

"Here," he said picking up the pasty, "finish up Simba. It's still in the bag, so it's still good. Then if you want to take a nap, I'll keep watch. And yes, I watched _The Lion King_."

The corners of her mouth twitched as she took the pasty. "Full of surprises, this guy."

Steve snorted and they lapsed into an easy silence.

After the small meal, Natasha was asleep almost instantly. Steve was impressed with the willpower it must have taken for her to stay awake, make it to the rendezvous in one piece and then insist that she was fine. Maybe she was or maybe she just thought he wouldn't care that she was hurt._ Go easy on her, Cap_, he thought.

Not too long afterwards, the train shuddered over a section of track and Natasha's head slipped off the window. She jerked herself back upright, but wrenched her shoulder in consequence. She moaned in her sleep, a tiny furrow creasing her brow.

"C'mere," Steve coaxed. Taking care not to joggle her injured shoulder, he positioned her against his chest, so that she was facing the window.

"No, I'm okay," she mumbled drowsily.

"Shhh," he murmured, "I got you." She was out like a light with her head tucked securely under his chin. He always forgot how small she was until he was right up on her. He watched her reflection in the window for a moment before making good on his promise of vigilance.

**2015 HOURS**  
Daejeon, South Korea

_DING_  
_Ladies &amp; gentlemen, we will be approaching Daejeon Station in approximately 15 minutes. If this is your final destination, please…_

Natasha, began to stretch and immediately regretted it. Pain, bright and hot shot down her arm and her stomach twisted queasily in response. She gasped and bit her bottom lip.

Someone shifted behind her and she tensed. "Nat, you okay?"

"Hey," he said comfortingly, "you're alright. We're on a train in Korea. Going to Seoul to meet with that asshole Sta—I mean, with Stark and the rest of the gang. Remember?"

Everything clicked into place and she let out the breath she'd be holding. He must have realized that she had been disoriented. "Steve?" she asked, her voice low and husky from sleep.

"Yeah?"

"Your shirt smells like onions."

Steve chuckled. "And you smell like roses and sunshine."

"Look at you learning how to lie," she teased and they laughed quietly.

"How's that arm?"

"Can't feel most of it, which is a good thing."

"Alright, I'll find a drugstore after I get you settled in the apartment and pick up some supplies." He started ticking off the things they needed. "Gauze, gloves, tweezers—"

"Needle-nose pliers would be better and a utility knife. It's deep, so you're gonna have to dig it out."

Steve clenched his jaw and nodded. He was no stranger to dealing with field wounds, but she knew that it's always harder to play doctor on someone you know.

"And pick up something strong. I have a feeling I'm gonna need a drink."


	3. Chapter 3: In Death

**Chapter 3: In Death**

**2230 HOURS**  
Unlisted Address  
Daejeon, South Korea

The flat was small, mostly unfurnished but scrupulously clean. Steve knew that Stark had started buying small properties around the globe that he kept off books as fallout shelters for loyal S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and members of the Avengers. Since Fury never gave up the goods on S.H.I.E.L.D's old shelters, Steve grudgingly conceded that this was more than a prudent idea.

"Hey," Natasha called to him from the bedroom.

He walked in and dropped the bag of supplies on the bed next to her. "All there?" he asked. She sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed and peered at the contents. Gloves, iodine, gauze, rubbing alcohol, adhesive stitches, topical skin adhesive, saline, medical tape, binding strips, scissors, antibiotic ointment, arm sling, pliers and the utility knife. Her eyes lingered for a moment on the utility knife and he thought he saw her shiver.

"All there. How'd you get saline?"

"I know a guy," Steve replied, smiling mysteriously.

"Mmhm, _right_. And the drink?"

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a brown paper bag and set it next to her. "Johnnie Walker at your service."

"No Stoli?"

"I'm an American Nat, and I can't get drunk so I don't spend much time in liquor stores."

She nodded, eyes roving over the pile. "S'good in a pinch."

Steve grabbed the ice bucket from the kitchen and filled it with lukewarm water from the bathroom. When Natasha uttered a surprised cry of pain, he poked his head out and saw her struggling vainly to get out of her jacket.

"Might need a little help."

"Help?"

Natasha looked at him dubiously. "You're cutting me Steve, _not_ my jacket."

"Sure. Gimme a second." He finished gathering towels and washcloths from the bathroom and set them down next to the bed.

"Here, hold my sleeve."

He did as instructed and she gingerly maneuvered her arm out of the jacket. Underneath she wore a hoodie and under that a tight t-shirt. They repeated the same process with the hoodie and by the time that was removed, Natasha was breathing hard.

"Remind me," she groaned, "never to wear this many layers ever again."

Steve eyed her t-shirt and realized that at the rate they were going it was going to take all night. "You want me to cut it off ya or keep going?"

"Cut it."

He nodded and grabbed the scissors. Carefully, he slit the shirt up the seams and it pulled away easily. Underneath _that_ was a black tank top. The puncture wound was visible now just to the side of the shoulder strap, in the hollow where the clavicle met the shoulder. It was a small hole, but was raw and puckered, and slowly oozing serum from its peak. "I can work around your shirt," he offered.

Natasha shook her head. "Nah, blood'll just get all over it." Steve hooked a finger underneath the strap and lifted it up, but hesitated to cut.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him when he paused. "Don't go bashful on me now Cap, 'cause the bras gotta go too." When he still hesitated she added, "Steve, it's not like you haven't seen me in my bra before."

He clipped the strap and frowned. "It's not like I was looking."

"That's okay, there's nothing wrong with looking," she informed him matter-of-factly. "I look at you."

"_Natasha_."

"What? Where's the harm? You think people don't look at you? Have _you_ looked at you?"

He clipped the other strap. "I know people look at me. I was just saying I didn't—I don't—I'm not gonna—_nevermind_," he ended in a rumble of frustration.

Natasha shrugged and immediately yelped in pain. "_Sukin syn_!" she growled ardently through clenched teeth.

Steve put a large hand on the back of her neck and squeezed lightly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she breathed. "I just need this thing out like yesterday."

He nodded and slit the tank top down the back. When she pulled it away from her body, Steve tried very hard not to look and also not to look like he was _trying_ not to look. Instead of coming off as gallantly nonchalant, he looked like he was having a mild stroke. Natasha was beautiful. Even banged and bruised, she was beautiful. Her swan's neck, the curve of her spine—he swallowed. A very small, knowing voice told him that this was part of the reason he was so firm with her. She unsettled him.

"Will you hand me a towel and then help me with the clasp?" she asked.

He snapped to attention. "Clasp?"

Natasha cocked her head to the side, frowning at him incredulously. "Steve you've been a movie star, a war hero, a comic book superhero and now you're a celebrity. _Everyone_ knows who you are. So I refuse, flat out refuse to believe that you've never taken off a woman's bra. _Refuse_."

"I have taken off—yes. Look, just where is it? Front or back?" What she said was true. He was no prince, but he liked to believe that he was still a gentlemen. He didn't believe that men should go around chasing after women every night of the week or groping every girl who walked by. And even if everyone knew who you were, it was still easy for such a man to get very lonely in this world. So on occasion, when the loneliness was too much for him to bear on his own, he gave in. He wasn't proud of that, but it also wasn't something he was ashamed of. It just was.

"In the back," she told him. "Just unclasp it and I'll take it off. Hand me a towel though?"

She turned her back to him and swept her hair out of the way. When he unhooked her bra, he liked to tell himself that his fingers hadn't trembled, but they had. Just a slight tremor before he had them back under control. He didn't know why they shook. This wasn't anything sexual and they were colleagues, besides. She just unsettled him.

"Towel for your thoughts?" Amusement colored her voice and Steve blushed faintly.

He snatched up a towel and thrust it in her lap. "Here," he said and then made a show of turning away; he didn't want her to think he was trying to get a look. Maybe he should leave the room…

"Where do you want me?" Natasha's voice was velvet on silk. A whisper of seduction that made all of his muscles go rigid and relax. When Steve turned around he inhaled sharply and then cleared his throat to cover it. His eyes traveled from her bra tossed casually on the bed, to the towel wrapped underneath her arms, to her bare shoulders and then to the hidden swell of her breasts, her skin moon pale against the cloth. Laughter twinkled in her emerald eyes and she wore that half-smile she favored when teasing him. Naturally, he frowned at her in disapproval. There were just some times you shouldn't toy with a man, and this was one of them.

"On the floor with your back to the bed," he replied curtly. Natasha raised an eyebrow, but complied without comment. As she maneuvered to the floor, Steve rechecked the supplies and organized them in order of need. He snapped on latex gloves and then quickly disinfected the pliers and utility knife with rubbing alcohol.

"I'm gonna sit behind you, so don't move," he instructed. "Now turn a bit to your right, left shoulder out." Steve carefully sat behind her on the bed and tightly crisscrossed his legs over her left arm and torso, pinning her against the side of the bed. Natasha hooked her good arm around his leg and hugged it. He swabbed around the puncture wound with rubbing alcohol and iodine to disinfect it. When he was done he picked up the knife and focused himself. "You ready?"

"No," she admitted, "But do it."

Steve nodded solemnly and turned his mind to the task. On the taxi ride to and from the drugstore, he'd used his phone to read as much as he could about the anatomy of the shoulder. As far as he could make out, the needle had punctured the supraspinatus muscle just over the rotator cuff and was lodged in the shoulder joint either in the synovial cavity or the articular cartilage. He fervently hoped it was the latter, or else there would be an extreme risk of infection.

The first cut was shallow; an incision half an inch long directly over the puncture. He felt Natasha tense against his legs, but she made no sound. A small well of blood beaded up from the cut and he quickly blotted it. The cuts were deliberately slow and shallow. Even though this method was causing Natasha more pain, Steve knew that it would be unwise to go too deep too fast when he didn't know how deep the needle was.

One cut at a time.

By the third cut he knew he was in the upper subcutaneous tissue because she stifled a shriek when he cut through a layer of nerve endings. She gripped his leg, digging her nails in and he had to wait until she stopped shaking before he could continue.

"Go," Natasha rasped.

Steve nodded even though she couldn't see him. The fourth cut severed the vessels in the lower subcutaneous tissue and blood gushed from the incision. With a face towel he swept up the overflow and then clamped it over the wound to staunch the bleeding. Natasha was breathing like a bellows.

On the fifth cut he felt the blade graze against metal and she whimpered at the contact. He blotted the wound and saw the jagged edge of the broken needle sticking out by the barest margin from her muscle. It would be so much easier to pull it out if he could access more of it. But then that would mean more cutting and possibly severing a tendon which he had neither the skill, nor the supplies to repair. "I see it. We're almost done, Nat. Almost there." She gave the barest nod and used the break to rest her head against his thigh.

By now, his gloved hands where slicked with blood, so he wiped them on a towel. In the middle of exchanging the utility knife for the needle-nose pliers, something caught his attention and he paused. There was a small writing pad set next to the phone. Grabbing that instead, Steve ripped off all of the paper, leaving only the cardboard backing. This he quickly folded over on itself and held it in front of Natasha's face.

"Bite down on this."

Natasha lifted her head blearily and asked, "Afraid I'll wake the neighbors?"

"No, I'm afraid you'll bite your tongue off, now take it." She opened her mouth obediently and took the proffered cardboard between her teeth. "Got it? Ok, hold on to me as tight as you want, you won't hurt me." In turn, Steve pulled his legs tighter around her.

The pliers hovered over the needle. One good pull: quick, up and straight. He sucked in a breath. _Steady. _She stiffened when the pliers came in contact with the needle. He closed them over the tip, clamping down tight to force the pliers to grip the needle completely so they wouldn't slip off during the pull. Natasha trembled and uttered a low, keening moan.

"Ready on three." They both tightened their grips on each other. "One." Natasha sucked in a deep lungful of air and held it. "Two." Steve rechecked his grip on the handle. "Three." Natasha screwed her eyes shut and Steve ripped out the needle.

Natasha screamed.

Steve felt it grind against bone as it came free with a small surge of blood and cloudy fluid. Natasha shuddered violently against his legs, alternating between rasping sobs and savage curses in Russian.

Immediately, he began using the saline to irrigate the wound and flush out as much of the sedative as possible. "All done Natasha, you did good. You're alright, it's all over," Steve assured her in a low, soothing tone. In the next moment she was slipping—her head drooped against his leg. "Nat, don't go to sleep. Keep your eyes open for me, hold on. Stay with me Nat. C'mon stay awake. Natasha, _Natasha!_"

Natasha didn't respond; the released sedative was already flooding her system. Suddenly, with no warning, her breathing slowed precipitously and then she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4: Under Cover

****Author's Warning: Please be advised that the latter portion of this chapter contains Mature Content.****

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**0945 HOURS**  
Unlisted Address  
Daejeon, South Korea

A warm hand brushed her forehead. "Hey, you there?" he whispered and Natasha's eyes fluttered open. She looked in the direction of the voice and her eyes met Steve's. There was a tenderness in them that she rarely saw from him—or at least rarely directed at her.

"Hey," her voice was raspy, so she swallowed and cleared her throat. "How'd we do?"

"Well, you scared the shit out of me," Steve admitted with a smile. He sat on the bed next to her, his face close to hers.

"That was Karma. You were being grumpy." He was always grumpy and for some reason it made Natasha want to nettle him even more. It was like constantly poking a grizzly bear that you knew wasn't going to turn around and casually eviscerate you with a paw swipe. Fun with no consequences. Well… except that it made him grumpy—_er_.

"I wasn't being grumpy," he protested mildly, continuing to stroke her forehead with his thumb, "I was worried."

"Well, looks like you pulled us through, Cap. You've got a knack for it." She received another rare smile from him and felt like she'd been given a prize. _Where did that come from?_

"The needle was jammed in there pretty good. When I pulled it out, the sedative that was locked in the chamber was released. You went down almost immediately. Natasha… you damn near stopped breathing." Steve pulled back from her a bit, his face clouding over.

When he didn't continue she prompted, "What else?"

"I couldn't feel your heartbeat for over five minutes. But I knew it had to've been pumping 'cause your chest would rise, just barely. Anyone else would've thought you were dead."

That surprised her. The implications of that _frightened_ her. It reminded her of—"The sedative they gave to—"

"Fury," he confirmed.

"Tetrodotoxin-B."

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"Whoever was after you wanted to make sure nobody would think you'd survived."

Natasha looked away from him and felt a weight drop into the pit of her stomach. This wasn't some old grudge come to settle a score. Something was in play here that she didn't understand, and she _hated_ not understanding.

"Natasha?" Steve looked at her expectantly.

"Huh?"

"I said, how ya feelin'?"

"Oh, I'm okay I guess. Shoulder feels a bit stiff." She tried to move it experimentally, but found that she couldn't.

"It's in a sling," he explained sitting up, "and I bound the whole thing around you with bandage strips in case you moved in your sleep. Probably better to let it rest."

Natasha looked down and saw that Steve had put a robe on her as well. She almost smiled at the thought of him valiantly trying to conceal her dignity and not look at the same time. She was sure that her towel must have come off some way or another.

"Thanks for everything last night Steve. My shoulder—I was a bit…"

Steve gave a little shrug. "Don't worry about it." He paused and then looked at her levelly. "Listen Natasha, we're gonna get to the bottom of this, I promise. I'm right here with you and tomorrow we'll be in Seoul. No one is taking you anywhere you don't want to be. Alright?"

"Yeah." But it wasn't alright. This was the second time he'd saved her. She wasn't supposed to scream and she didn't cry. It… well it embarrassed her. She knew that Steve wasn't the type of guy who kept score, but it was kind of an odd feeling and she didn't fully trust it. Natasha had been on her own for so long that she was used to relying only on herself, out of necessity. She guessed Steve was similar, in a way. But it was rare that anyone helped her and it left her feeling uncomfortable and exposed.

"What's goin' on in there?" A mixture of curiosity and concern flickered across Steve's features.

Natasha looked up at him and felt a sudden, deep and unwavering shame. He was so kind and just _good_. How could anyone be so good? Maybe that should make her feel safe with him and trust him, except that it didn't exactly. She felt dirty somehow; like a red stain on pure white linen. She couldn't understand why Steve cared, maybe that's just what he did with everyone. Natasha felt different about herself when she was around him, like there was a greater possibility for good in her. But at the same time it brought all of her ugliness out into the stark light of reality. It wasn't that she didn't trust Steve, she didn't trust herself.

Natasha realized that she was staring at him and quickly turned away to mask her discomfort. "Nothing, I was… nothing."

"You know if you're still tired you can go back to sleep and I'll stay up and keep an eye on ya."

"No, it's okay, you should get some rest while you can." Natasha tried to sit up, but a surge of dizziness and fatigue swept over her in a wave.

Steve placed a gentle, but stilling hand on her forearm. "Natasha, it's alright. I've got you." There it was again, _I've got you_. But why? The surge came again. She was so tired. His voice was almost hypnotic, his calm eyes open and startlingly blue. _Cerulean_, she thought, _cerulean blue_. Steve's hand slid down to cover hers and his thumb moved across the back of it in slow, meandering circles. _Flecks of yellow_, was the last thought Natasha had before the remains of the sedative pulled her down, back into a black and dreamless sleep.

**1300 HOURS**

Steve opened a cabinet and whistled appreciatively. It was lined with canned soups, vegetables, meats, sauces, pastas, powdered eggs and potatoes, condensed milk, hardtack, meat jerkies and other foods a visitor might need if he couldn't risk going out. Another cabinet held bottled water, energy drinks and alcohol. Steve reached in and pulled out a bottle of 80 proof Stolichnaya.

"Stoli. Thank you for your service, Mr. Walker." He set it on the counter and opened a third cabinet. Steve's face screwed up in a mixture of horror and revulsion. Each shelf was completely stocked with _Stark-O's: Iron Crunch_. Almost twenty boxes of that self-serving smug bastard grinned out at him from the shelves. Stark _would_ have a sugar cereal. Steve shut the cabinet with a slam. "Prick."

"You really don't like him, do you?"

Steve spun around startled and then let out the breath he'd sucked in. He nodded at Natasha with renewed respect and wryly admitted, "There's not many people who can sneak up on me."

Natasha chuckled and leaned against the door frame. "Someone else said that to me once. He was a bit of a prick too."

"What're you doing up?"

"Same as you," she said and moved to sit at the kitchen bar. "I got hungry."

Steve rubbed his hands together and opened the first two cabinets. "Okay, we got a few choices. I'm thinkin' eggs," he pulled out a box of the dehydrated eggs and waved it at her, "and some… powered OJ, and fry up some Spam?"

Natasha wrinkled her nose at the can. "Gross Steve, we're not at war anymore."

He shrugged and put it back, "Yeah well, you eat somethin' as much as we did and you kinda get a taste for it. Sardines suit you?" At her incredulous look he sighed and put that away as well. "Then how 'bout some hash?"

"Isn't hash just Spam with potatoes mixed in?"

It was Steve's turn to look incredulous. "No. You've never had _hash_?"

"I don't make a habit of eating canned processed animal parts if I don't have to."

"Well you do now."

"Or we could just have a bowl of Iron Crunch. I hear it's full of 'clean energy.'"

Steve gave her a level look. "You're not eating that sh—crap. You need a good hot meal after last night." Natasha made a noncommittal sound, clearly not trusting his judgment on what constituted a good meal. He moved to the stove and made short work of the breakfast, but the whole time he could feel Natasha's eyes on the back of his neck—could feel her burning to say it.

"What?" he groaned.

"What?" she chirped innocently.

Steve glanced at her over his shoulder. "Spit it out."

She sighed. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"I don't hate him."

"Well you don't like him, that's obvious."

"It's not that I don't like him, I just don't like how he behaves—most of the time."

Natasha scoffed. "Same thing."

"It's not."

"Sure it is. When you don't like someone it's because of how they behave."

"Well, I think I like you best when you're asleep," he retorted, but his tone was light.

"Thanks, that's both touching and creepy."

Steve took a moment to compose his words. "Stark's full of himself. When you're working in service of the people and you have men—and women—," he amended with a nod to her, "at your back, there's no room for that in the group. It causes dissension, confusion and resentment. Everything becomes a battle. There's moments in a fight when you don't have time to explain every command just because someone needs their ego stroked."

He looked at Natasha and she nodded her agreement.

"So," he went on, "Stark can do whatever he likes in his personal life, I don't care. But when it comes to other people putting their life in your hands, then you'd better leave everything but the commitment to protect that life at home. It's a precious thing, when people trust you like that, and I won't allow my ego or anyone else's to jeopardize it."

Their eyes locked. _Trust_. Steve knew that he trusted her. In all honesty he only trusted Natasha as much as she would allow him to. There was so much about her that he didn't know, but he did want to—if she would let him.

"Fair enough," she said simply, as if responding to his words both spoken and unspoken.

He dished a healthy portion of the breakfast onto a plate and placed it in front of Natasha. When Steve joined her at the bar, she still eyed her food with severe reservation. He handed her a fork. "Eat up."

Natasha took it and scooped up a forkful of the steaming hash, visibly steeled herself. "Aye, aye Cap."

**1700 HOURS**

In the mirror, Natasha surveyed her injuries. Her skin glistened with damp from the shower and she could see the bruises, livid against her pale flesh. The lingering heat fogged the glass and she wiped at it with a towel.

There were two, quick knocks on the door. "You okay?" Steve called. He'd gone to sleep shortly after their brunch, but had immediately woken up and stubbornly insisted on giving Natasha some privacy when she'd tipped into the room to take a shower.

"Yeah, almost done."

Natasha listened to his footsteps retreat from the bedroom before returning her cool gaze to the mirror. It was always her habit to do this after a battle. She would bathe and wash off all the blood, grime and sweat and then stand naked in front of a mirror to take inventory. It wasn't something that was born out of vanity, but from drilled-in training that she'd never felt the need to shake off.

Men and women may look at her as something dangerous and beautiful, a thing to be desired. But Natasha knew the truth of it; her body was just a weapon to be used, nothing more. It was a machine that constantly had to be tuned, recalibrated and have it's weaknesses reassessed. Other people might find this conviction degrading, but she'd had to make peace with it a long time ago.

The wound on her shoulder was red at the center and tinged with a light purple from the impact of the shot. Last night Steve had sealed it with liquid adhesive and covered it with a waterproof bandage. He'd done good work and it didn't pain her over much, but it was still very stiff if she raised it above her chest. The blow she'd taken across her jaw was only a light blue, but it was tender. Natasha reached up and touched it gingerly. There were light bruises on her knees from hitting the floor and a scraped knuckle from the push dagger.

The punch she'd taken to her side was by far the worst. Natasha raised her right arm and gazed at it dispassionately. It had been a swift, deep punch. Had it been higher, the woman probably would have broken her small rib, but that just showed how deliberate and well-trained the woman had been. The center of the bruise was so deep a purple that it was nearly black. The rest of the bruise spread out in fading hues of dark blue. She felt the muscles underneath pull with every movement. It hurt the most. Not good, but far from terrible.

Natasha held her own gaze in the mirror and the tiredness of her eyes shocked her a little. There were dark circles under them now, even though she'd slept for a very long time, and her skin looked pale. Her damp hair fell in light waves across her shoulders and she fingered them, considering. No point in being blonde if they'd recognize her anyway.

She looked into her eyes again and then quickly away. It was rare that she looked. She often didn't like what she found in them; they were old eyes that had seen _too_ _much_. Did other people see the same darkness that she glimpsed? Was this what Steve saw when he looked at her? Her eyes could never be open like his. Natasha swallowed and turned away from the mirror.

**... ... ... ...**

"All yours if you want it," Natasha called. Steve was slouched on the couch with an arm across his face. He lifted the arm a hair and glanced at her.

"Nah, I'm okay," he said before dropping his arm back in place. She sat down next to him and they passed some time in amicable silence, soaking up the late afternoon sun which flooded in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Sam and I were searching in the wrong place," Steve ventured, breaking the silence. "I'm almost sure of it."

Natasha shook herself out of her musings and turned towards him, her brow creased in confusion. "You didn't find _anything_?"

Steve shook his head. "No. I keep feeling like Bucky's behind us, not in front of us. Like he was back where we started."

"In D.C.?"

Steve nodded. "At least he was when we left. After that, who knows where he went."

"You don't think he went back to his handlers? He's still brainwashed and I hate to admit it, but brainwashing tends to make you gravitate back to your comfort zone."

"I know," he sighed, "It's crossed my mind—more than once. But Bucky was different Natasha, I can't explain it. He could have killed me."

"He _did_ try to kill you."

"No, he fought it. I saw the doubt in him and I watched him fight it! Bucky's still in there and I'm gonna find him."

Natasha looked at him, considering. "I dunno know Steve, but I hope that when you do find him that you can help him. It won't be easy… for either of you." She ended this softly looking down at her hands. Steve assumed that she was speaking from her own experience and by the look on her face, it still haunted her. Natasha never shared anything about herself—in fact this was the most she'd really alluded to anything concerning her past.

He wondered if the woman he knew now was anything like the girl she'd been. While Natasha had only been a girl when she was taken, Bucky had been a man full grown. He would never be the same again, there was no doubt, but he'd had a life, memories and a set personality. How much of this still existed in his core that he could draw upon? How much of Bucky could he bring back? Would he even want to come back?

Natasha said that it wasn't easy and Steve wanted to ask her how it had been done with her. How she'd chosen the person that she wanted to be. But he felt like that would be a violent intrusion on a privacy that she guarded jealously. Steve sighed.

"But you'll do it," Natasha added, "I know you will." There was no hint of doubt in Natasha's voice and her eyes were full of certainty and knowing. Until this moment, Steve hadn't realized how much he'd needed someone to say they believed in him or acknowledge the battle he'd committed himself to fighting. Warmth and gratitude swelled in his chest.

"Thank you for that Natasha. That means a lot to me." Natasha gave Steve a small smile and turned her face toward the sun.

**2100 HOURS **

Natasha shut off the television and uncurled herself from her corner of the couch. Trying to translate rapid-fire Korean for hours on end was giving her a headache. Steve had given up paying attention a long time ago. "You want somethin' to eat?"

"How 'bout some fried Spam?"

"I'm not making you pig parts." Natasha nudged Steve's leg with her knee and a crooked smile crept across his face.

"I'm more tired than hungry anyway. Jetlag," he yawned widely, "jetlag's killin' me."

Natasha nodded as she was still feeling more than a little tired herself. Showering and dressing had taken most of the energy she'd had. It surprised her to no end that Fury had taken a full dose of TTX-B and managed to be up and helping them save the world less than three days later. _Like Zombie Jesus_, she mused. She found that Steve's yawning was contagious and when she followed suit, his head snapped up sharply. "Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself."

"You should go to bed, Nat."

She yawned again, though she tried to stifle it this time. "Practice what you preach, Cap. Let's go."

"I'm fine out here, just grab myself a pillow."

Natasha looked puzzled. "Why? The bed's huge, we can both use it."

Steve stood up, shaking his head stubbornly. "No, I'll be fine out here, the couch is plenty big enough."

"Don't be stupid, you should sleep in the bed."

"I'm fine on the couch," Steve insisted and then walked into the bedroom. Natasha followed him, feeling a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"We're both adults Steve, so what's the problem here?"

"There isn't one."

"Fine, then I'll take the couch."

"Natasha," he warned.

"What?" she said and snatched a pillow off the bed. "If it's good enough for Steve Rogers, then it's good enough for me."

"Why're you picking a fight?" he demanded in tiredly.

"I'm not picking a fight. You're the one who stayed up all night and barely got any sleep today. We're about to be on a mission and it would be stupid to go in tired when you don't have to."

"Nat, I don't wanna argue with you about this."

"Then don't."

Natasha knew she was glaring at him—which probably wasn't helping. _Please just take the bed, Steve._ She wanted to beg him to do it and tell him it was because of how guilty she felt that he'd stayed up all night just to make sure she was still breathing. Guilty that he'd saved her _again_. Irritated as hell that he was always being so fucking gallant. Maybe if Steve would just let her give him something in return then she wouldn't feel like such shit… maybe. But she couldn't say that of course. Natasha-fucking-Romanoff didn't say things like that.

Steve looked at her for a long moment, taking in her angry frown and the pillow she held in a death grip—he probably thought she was loony tunes. Natasha fully expected to battle with him until one of them caved. And considering how mule-like Steve was, she expected it to be her. Instead, he surprised her. "Alright, but wake me up if I start snoring. Sam says if I don't go to a sleep doctor soon, then he's gonna quietly smother me in my sleep."

Natasha chuckled and relaxed her grip on the pillow. Then she cocked her head to the side and regarded him with an inviting smile. "Well don't worry about getting smothered, Steve. I always give the geezers I sleep with a free pass." Steve caught the pillow she casually tossed his way and scowled.

**... ... ... ...**

They'd spoken polite goodnight's to each other and had gone to sleep on their respective sides of the bed, leaving enough of a gulf in the middle that it was wide enough for a third person. But at some point during the night they had come together. Natasha was pressed with her back against Steve's chest and his arm lay draped over her waist. When she stirred against him he awoke and saw that it was twilight. Her warmth and soft feminine scent had relaxed him into a deep slumber that he rarely allowed himself. She murmured something in her sleep and Steve thought she must still be drowsing, until he felt her hand brush his and move up his forearm.

"Natasha?"

Natasha turned her body into his a little more and looked at him over her shoulder. When Steve saw her face, he inhaled sharply. Her eyes were wide pools of deep sea green, ringed with the soft light filtering in through the window. They were so… _open_. Open and unguarded in a way that she'd never allowed him to see before. All of her walls and safeguards were down and he could see the loneliness that she kept only to herself. Now that he really looked at _her_, Steve could see how alike she was to him. And then beneath that, he could see the desire.

Slowly, Natasha drew his hand under the bottom of her shirt and pressed it firmly against her belly. "Kiss me." It was spoken softly, a command and yet a question. He couldn't deny her, suddenly he didn't want to deny her anything.

Steve leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers. Natasha reached behind them with her other hand and pulled his head down, deepening the kiss. When her mouth opened, he sucked in her lower lip, running his tongue along it and delighting in its plumpness. When her tongue met his in a hungry dance it was like an electric current shot from the tip of his head straight down to his groin. She tasted faintly of jasmine blooming under the spring sun.

He groaned against Natasha's mouth and the hand that held his against her belly increased slightly in its pressure. Steve inched his hand down, past the soft, taught skin on her stomach and paused at the hem of her pajama pants. Their breathing quickened and when she moaned, Steve had the sudden impulse to pull away and bite her hard on the neck to mark her. He barely resisted the urge, but the thought made his erection throb.

Natasha tangled her fingers in the back of his hair and with her other hand, gently guided his hand beneath her pants and underwear. He needed no further urging. His fingers moved in a trail through her soft pubic hair. There was only a small stripe down the middle, which was cut short, but not low enough to be bristly. When his two fingers parted her folds, Natasha jerked against his touch. She was hot and wet. Steve slipped his middle finger down to the tip of her entrance and used the wetness of her arousal to lubricate the head of her clitoris. It throbbed steadily against his finger when he began to rub it. First in small circles and then straight up and down, but always focusing on the small pearl of flesh. The feel of her tongue in his mouth, the damp heat between her legs and her husky moans made him growl deep in his throat. Steve arched his hips against her the same instant that she pushed back and rubbed her round bottom against his crotch. By now he was so aroused that the contact was delightfully painful.

He rubbed her engorged clitoris in just the perfect spot and she gripped his wrist hard. Natasha pulled her mouth away from his, gasping before nipping him along the jaw. "_Steve_," she said, drawing his name out in a breathy whine. He knew she was close and he knew what she wanted. He thrust his hips against her again.

"Nuh," he groaned dully. In mid-thrust, Steve awoke abruptly and froze. It was the small hours of the morning and Natasha was pressed with her back against him, _asleep_. His hand was flat against her belly where he'd rucked up her shirt during the night. His erection was pressed between them and he pulled back from her, startled and disoriented.

Natasha didn't move and he prayed to God that she hadn't felt his half-thrust _or_ the erection. Either she had and was trying to spare his dignity, or the last vestiges of the sedative were still passing through her system. Either way, Steve hastily exited the bed as quietly as he could manage.

For a moment, he stood at the end of the bed breathing hard, his heart beating out a staccato tattoo. He watched Natasha's dark form and tried to recall himself as he shook off the dream. Steve's penis twitched at the shared memory—_no,_ _dream_—and before he realized what he was doing, he'd lifted his fingers to his nose to smell her musk. But there was none, _of course_. He flung them away, suddenly filled with shame and self-revulsion, and fled the room.

In the dark living room Steve sat upright in the recliner, his mind a confused jumble of emotions and thoughts that ran in wild circles. His immediate impulse was to masturbate and give himself the release that his body demanded. He couldn't shake the images of her, or her feel, or her taste from his mind. But when he cupped his tightened balls through his sweatpants, Steve found that he couldn't. As startling as the magnitude of his desire was, it would be wrong. Natasha hadn't asked for his attentions and she was his friend. She'd invited him to share the bed and now, just because he'd nearly had a wet dream, he would use and violate her image? No, what he'd already done was bad enough.

Steve viciously gripped each armrest and ground his teeth together in frustration. Unbidden, his mind went back to the beginning of the dream—_Natasha's_ _eyes_. There had been no secrets, no barrier between them—only understanding and acceptance. Tonight something in Steve had shifted and he knew clearly what it was, though he wished he didn't. For that brief moment, when their eyes met in the dream and he _saw her_, he'd no longer been alone. Not since before the ice had he felt the joy and comfort of having a true connection with someone who was like him—out of time and out of place.

Until tonight, Steve hadn't allowed himself a just examination of the depth of his loneliness. But now, it was laid bare before him in all of it's pitiful, aching raggedness. And if for that true connection alone, Steve keenly wished that it had been real.

But it hadn't been real. It was just a dream.


	5. Chapter 5: Over the Han

**Chapter 5: Over the Han**

* * *

**0500 HOURS**  
Unlisted Address  
Daejeon, South Korea

Steve was utterly miserable.

He'd waited for what seemed like days for dawn to break, both dreading it's coming and impatient for its arrival. Feeling terribly angry and sorry for himself, he'd spent most of the night sitting in the recliner staring out at the darkened city. Usually he was not a man given to self-pity, but conceded that once in a while everyone needed a moment to wallow. Suddenly desperate to do self-harm he'd eaten an entire box of Iron Crunch, hoping the sugar was doing damage to his teeth enamel—well, at least temporarily—and cursed Stark with every bite.

Sharing the bed with Natasha had been a mistake, but he'd let her bully him into it anyway. She always had to be in control or pretending like she had control and it pissed him off. He wouldn't be feeling like such a goddamned idiot if she'd just let him sleep where he'd wanted.

_No_, Steve chastised himself. He knew it wasn't really her fault. Natasha had just been trying to do something nice for him in her own way. He just… missed her. Missed the idea of her, even though it had only been a creation of his mind. And now that he couldn't have that, it depressed him.

The bedroom door swung inward and he froze. Natasha peered around the room and spotted him. Her blonde hair was tousled from sleep and she stretched absentmindedly, exposing her midriff. The sight of her made Steve's chest tighten, so he quickly looked away.

"Hey you," Natasha greeted, and padded quietly towards him.

When Steve didn't look up or respond she walked over and placed a hand at the base of his neck. "You alright, Steve?"

Her touch was cool, but to Steve's sensitive flesh it might as well have been a brand of fire. He willed himself not to move when all he wanted to do was grab Natasha by the wrist, sling her to the floor, nudge her thighs apart and— "Did you sleep out here?" she asked softly. "Your side of the bed was cold."

Her words made him flinch. So she _didn't_ know. The knowledge that Natasha hadn't been privy to him shaming himself was a huge relief. But at the same time it did nothing to quell the confusing sense of disappointment that welled up inside him. Steve tried to think of something to say or do, but he dared not even look at her.

Natasha crouched in front of him and moved her hand to his shoulder. "Hey," she murmured, concern plain in her voice, "what's wro—"

He shook her hand off and jerked back from her. "Nothing, I just didn't get a lot of sleep," he said and stood abruptly. The hard edge in his voice surprised him, but he couldn't suppress it. "Train leaves at seven, we leave in an hour." Instantly Steve knew that his tone had stung her and when he glanced back, he wished that he hadn't. Natasha wore a startled expression on her face which quickly morphed into something like hurt and then, just as swiftly, was replaced by a tight mask of cool impassivity.

"I'll be ready," she replied neutrally, and then walked back into the bedroom.

* * *

**1000 HOURS**  
Destination: Yongsan Station, Seoul, South Korea

Natasha barely spoke to him as they traveled; using as few words as possible to answer Steve if he asked her a question. As much as he didn't like to admit it, it galled him that Natasha had spoken freely to everyone else they'd come in contact with—the taxi driver, the ticket checker, even other train passengers. He knew he'd been hard and careless with his words, but what could he say? He damned sure couldn't tell her the truth and if he tried to pass off a lie as an explanation, she would see through the flimsy veneer. Everyone knew Steve Rogers couldn't tell a lie to save his life.

So instead, he spent the entire train ride making pathetic attempts at conversation and being skillfully ignored. The silence was so thick and oppressive that he found himself wishing she'd just turn around, tell him all the ways he could go fuck himself and have it done with. Knowing her, she'd probably factored that in and decided to let him squirm for a while. Natasha was, after all, a practiced torturer. _Point taken_, he thought grimly.

He needed to think up a way to apologize without giving himself away. How he was going to do that, he had no idea. But Steve made up his mind to pull her aside as soon as they left the train and make things right between them.

When the train docked at Yongsan Station Steve heaved a huge sigh of relief. Being in close quarters with someone who was pretending like you didn't exist was beyond uncomfortable. He followed Natasha through the jostling passengers and out into the mall where he was promptly separated from her in the press of people. "Nat," he called. But Natasha didn't pause even though he knew she'd heard him.

A hot flash of anger shot through him at her childishness, but then he reminded himself that he'd nearly molested her last night and then pushed her away this morning. "S'cuse me, ma'am," he apologized to a woman he'd bumped into in his haste to catch up with Natasha. When they came outside into the warm spring morning Steve called out to her again, but she walked swiftly down the wide, tiered stairs that lead to the street below. "_Natasha!_" he called even louder, trying hard to suppress his rising irritation.

Nearly to the curb, she replied chidingly. "Stop screaming."

"I wasn't screaming," he retorted, but quickly darted a look around the milling throng anyway. When Steve faced forward, Natasha had continued walking. He clenched jaw as the anger rose again. He took three long strides, grabbed her firmly by the arm and swung her around to face him.

Wrong move.

Shock and absolute fury thundered across her features. Did she just growl at him? "Natasha, look I'm sorry about this morning," he tried to say calmly. But Steve didn't feel very calm. "I mean back at the apartment. I know I was—"

"Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Will you just please listen?"

"Let go of me." Each word fairly dripped with poison. This was _not_ going well.

When he didn't release her, Natasha made to pull away but he tugged her back on reflex. She gave a small gasp of pain and Steve suddenly realized that he was gripping her injured arm. He let go abruptly, feeling his stomach drop. "Aw shit, did I hurt you? Nat I-I'm sorry." He stammered.

"I don't know what's going on with you Rogers, but leave me the hell out of it." She glared at him for good measure and then stalked off as a sleek, black sedan swerved to a avoid taxi and came screeching to a halt at the curb.

The tinted passenger window rolled down and Happy Hogan called out a greeting to them. He got out of the car and rushed around the front to open the door for them. "Hey guys!" When neither of them responded, he raised his eyebrows and said, "_Ookay_. Oop, let me get that for ya!" Happy jumped to get the passenger door for Natasha, but she beat him to it, opening it violently and then slamming it shut behind herself.

He glanced at Steve who gave him an infinitesimal shake of the head and pressed his lips into a tight line. He let Happy take his bag and lead him around to the other side of the car, as Natasha clearly wasn't going to scoot over for him.

Happy drove them through the busy streets of Seoul, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel and whistling tunelessly along with the K-pop that played softly through the speakers. He took them over the Wonhyo Bridge which stretched over the Han River and afforded them a beautiful view of Yeongdeungpo-gu District. Three impressive skyscrapers reflected the light of the late morning sun and Steve swore he saw a small helicopter take off from the top of one of them. Natasha sat next to him in the backseat, her black bugout bag braced between her knees as she stared out the window. He wished she would say something, but knew he'd made too much of a mess of things for that to happen now.

The car hit a small bump and Natasha's hand crept towards her elbow to cradle her injured arm closer to her body. Instantly, Steve was awash in guilt. "Nat…" he ventured.

To his surprise she swung her head around and rounded on him. "What Steve? _What?_"

After such a long day of silence he so shocked by her directness that he was at a loss for words. He felt like an idiot sitting there with his mouth opening and closing like a gutted fish. "I uh... um your arm okay?"

Natasha stared at him for so long that he had to resist the urge to shift in his seat.

"We're not too far now," Happy called back in such a loud voice that Steve momentarily wondered if Stark had begun going deaf. "You guys hungry? There's a great little joint up here that makes the best bulgogi this side of the Han. Never too early for bulgogi!"

Natasha, who'd still been leveling a stare at Steve, snorted with disgust and went back to looking out the window. "Ooo, kinda frosty back there," Happy muttered under his breath.

Steve frowned deeply. Nothing had changed, he still couldn't talk to women. "No thanks Happy. We'll just go to the Tower, please."

* * *

In all honesty Natasha was starving and the thought of steaming hot bulgogi set her mouth to watering. But if anyone thought she was going to spend one more minute than necessary in close quarters with Steve, then they had another thing coming. And where the hell did he get off manhandling her like that? If she didn't want to speak to him then she damn sure didn't have to. _Just an overgrown idiot_, she decided angrily. _A big fumbling blue-eyed idiot…_

Blue eyes… she cursed tiredly under her breath and felt Steve shift beside her. Natasha knew just from looking into his eyes that he really was sorry, but dammit she wasn't done being angry! _And then he had the nerve to put his hands on me—_she cut that thought off quickly as it only made her want to chop him in the throat with renewed zeal. Admittedly though, the mental image of Steve choking and sputtering from a ruined windpipe did give her a little satisfaction.

Happy had been nattering on about something when suddenly it was dead silent in the car. She glanced up and saw him looking back at her expectantly in the rearview mirror.

"What?" Natasha asked irritably.

Happy looked at little put out that she hadn't been listening. "I said Tony's got a little surprise for everyone. You're gonna love it."

"Mmm, sounds fantastic."

Steve cleared his throat politely. "Well, Tony's very generous, so I'm sure whatever it is will be wonderful. Thanks Happy."

Happy puffed up with pride like the fat little toad that he was and Natasha glared at Steve for a moment. _Two quick chops_, she told him silently. As if he really had heard her, he squirmed uneasily and looked away.

They were headed down Yeoui-daero Street, staring up at the arresting view of the International Finance Center office towers. Happy was explaining that Stark had partnered with the Seoul Metropolitan Government and owned Tower 3, which boasted 56 stories and a landing pad large enough for two helicopters. He also had investments in Towers 1 and 2, as well as other IFC's that were still under development. It seemed as if everywhere she went, Stark was devouring properties and erecting skyscrapers. _Compensating for something?_

The car took a right turn going at a perilous speed, and totally unprepared for the sudden change in motion, Natasha flew sideways into Steve. He grunted in surprise, but caught her just before she landed face first in his lap. Something very rude was on the tip of her tongue, but before she could comment on Happy's driving skills he gunned the engine, going full throttle towards a 15-foot, solid metal wall.

Steve yelled something incoherent and in a blink had pulled Natasha into his lap, curling his body protectively around her. Through a gap in the arms and legs that shielded her, Natasha saw the wall—no a gate—open so fast, that it seemed to wink out of existence. When it was obvious that they weren't going to a die, Steve lifted his head and barked at Happy. "WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Happy, who had now decelerated to a reasonable speed, was doubled over on the steering wheel, howling with laughter. They were driving down a narrow road between the outer buildings that surrounded the towers.

"Every time," he gasped, "I do it every time we have some fancy diplomat come for a visit. The first one shit his pants!" Happy dissolved again into a wheezing fit of laughter. Natasha stared at him stunned. He seriously thought this shit was funny? She actually heard Steve growl and swiveled her head around in surprise—or tried to, but his hand was still clamped around the back of her neck.

His grip relaxed immediately, but he didn't let go. Instead he traced the delicate ridge of her spine with his thumb and squeezed in a gentle, reassuring way. "You okay?" Steve's voice was pitched low, for her ears.

"Yeah, I'm fine." When Natasha turned to look at him she immediately realized three things: one, his face was _extremely _close—she could count his eyelashes if she had a mind to. Two, she wasn't angry with him anymore. And three, she was still sitting in his lap.

Steve gave her a lopsided boyish grin and she couldn't help giving him a smile of her own, if a tad sheepish. Natasha slid out of his lap as gracefully as she could manage and tried not to look at him. Happy came to a stop in front of the huge, black tinted doors which lead into Stark's Tower 3. The manicured center courtyard of the IFC was empty now, but of course it was the weekend. Though she could see the Conrad Hotel, situated on the same lot, was doing a brisk business with sleek sedans pulling up and off with high profile guests.

When they parked, Steve didn't wait for Happy to open the door for him and neither did she. He did, however, grab Natasha's bag and slide out before she could say anything. To her surprise, she didn't feel the need to grab it back. When she got out to stretch and take in her surroundings, Steve and Happy were already standing behind the open trunk retrieving his luggage.

Leaning in close, Steve said in a whisper that he probably thought she couldn't hear, "Pull any shit like that with me again and I'll personally rip your balls off and let Natasha stuff 'em down your throat. Got me?" The entire time she'd known Steve he'd never made an empty threat. And though he wasn't usually so colorful with his expressions, this was no exception. When Happy swallowed audibly Natasha smiled on the inside.

Not waiting for Happy to respond, he shouldered both their bags and ushered her ahead of him with a warm hand on the small of her back.

Inside, the lobby was empty save for a well-muscled, but genial looking guard sporting an impressive mustache and standing behind a tall counter. He and Steve nodded to one another, as men do, and the guard pointed them past a long row of elevator doors and towards a single elevator on the opposite wall.

Their soft footfalls echoed off the marble walls as they walked through the empty lobby. Once they reached the elevator they paused and looked at one another, puzzled. There was no button. This elevator was taller than the others and lacked the _Stark Industries_ logo. Instead there was an uncharacteristically unadorned letter S engraved directly in the middle. The doors themselves were made of a roughly polished metal which seemed vaguely familiar to her.

Natasha stepped forward and frowning curiously, reached out a hand to touch the metal. "Is this… _Adamantium_?"

As soon as her fingers touched the cool metal, the doors sprang open. "Indeed, it is! Welcome Agent Romanoff," Jarvis greeted. Natasha swore and took a quick step backwards, automatically reaching for the gun that she wasn't wearing.

On the way over, Natasha had only half-listened to Happy informing Steve that every Avenger's DNA was programmed into the building, allowing them access to most areas. Steve had given him a puzzled look—how could their DNA be programmed into a _building_? Apparently Tower 3 was the second prototype for a biogenetically fabricated superstructure which Stark was calling GEN-Fab.

"Captain Rogers, I hope you're well? Your heart rate has elevated."

Steve glanced at Natasha and raised his eyebrows. "Whatever happened to privacy?" he muttered and followed her into the elevator.

She snorted softly. "When's the last time you had some of that?"

"Good point," Steve conceded. "I'm fine, Jarvis. Take us to Level A please."

"Certainly, Captain. Should I hold the door for Mr. Hogan?" Jarvis asked as Happy half jogged to catch up with them. Natasha watched Steve level a death glare at Happy, who promptly skidded to a halt and waved them on. "I'll ah just catch the next one," he called.

The elevator whirred upward, jettisoning them up the 56 stories at a dizzying, but barely noticeable speed. Steve turned towards Natasha and gave her a sidelong glance. "How'd you know it was Adamantium?"

Natasha shrugged. "It makes up part of your shield, Stark plays around with it, Logan's whole skeleton is encased in it and Clint enjoys tipping his arrows with it for special occasions."

They lapsed back into silence and Steve shifted the weight of their bags on his shoulder. "Natasha," he said.

"Hmm?"

"You know… I was being sincere earlier, even though it didn't come out how I meant it. And this morning, back at the apartment, I wasn't myself and I took that out on you. I apologize."

She turned and regarded him with her penetrating gaze. "I know. We're good Steve."

Steve gave her a sharp nod and released the breath he'd been holding. There was an awkward silence between them as they both adjusted back to normalcy. Then he straightened and asked with all the curiosity of a 6-year-old, "So what's bulgogi anyway?"


	6. Chapter 6: Spice Trade

**Hi Folks. There's 2 more chapters loaded in the barrel that will be staggered over the next few weeks. **

**For those who've been waiting forever for an update, thanks for your patience and keep on readin' ;)**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Spice Trade**

**1045 HOURS**

IFC Stark Tower 3

Yeongdeungpo-gu, Seoul, South Korea

Natasha gave him a rare, full smile and opened her mouth to reply, but before she could the elevator stopped and opened silently. Bright light dazzled them and it took them both a few seconds to adjust. Suddenly Pepper Potts appeared out of the haze holding a sheaf of papers, grinning at them.

"Natalie!" she exclaimed. Natasha grinned back and the two embraced in a tight, warm hug. Then she turned to Steve and eyed him with interest. "I don't believe we've yet had the pleasure to meet. You must be Captain Steve Rogers," she said and stuck out a hand. "I'm Pepper Pots, CEO of Stark Industries and Tony's better half."

Steve shook her hand and nodded respectfully. "Ma'am, it's good to meet you. Stark's—er Tony's spoken of you quite often."

"What he means is Tony won't shut about you and it's extremely annoying," Natasha added dryly. Steve noted that Pepper's cheeks went a bit pink, but she was clearly pleased.

"Well, come on in then! Come over here and set your things down. Happy will show you to your rooms in just a bit." Pepper beckoned them towards a long, scooped leather couch. "Have a seat and I'll be right back. I've just got to put these papers in a file and then we can catch up."

Steve set their bags down next to a black slate coffee table, but neither of them sat. "She's taller than I'd imagined."

Natasha eyed him sideways. "Oh so you like long legs, huh? That why you didn't call Susan?"

"No, I didn't say that. And I _did_ call Sus—we're not talking about this," he replied flatly.

"You guys want something to eat or maybe a cocktail? I know it's still morning, but it's always happy hour at Stark Tower," Pepper called from down the long hallway.

Steve's stomach rumbled at the offer of food, so he crossed his arms to conceal it.

"Don't worry cowboy, I'm starving too," Natasha admitted. "Pepper let's have lunch."

"Why does she call you 'Natalie'?"

"Natalie Rushman. That's the name I used when I met them. My name is Natalia, you know that, and in Russia if your name is Natalia then your nickname is either Natalie or Natasha."

"Uh-huh. And why Rushman?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Most of which you never answer."

Her lips twitched at that, but she still didn't reward him with a reply. Pepper's heels clicked on the marble floor as she made her way back to the center of the room. "What do you guys want to eat? Oh! How about some bulgogi? Tony and Happy found the best place not too far from here. It's amazing."

"Yeah," Steve said, "he was telling us about it on the way over. What is it exactly?"

Pepper gasped delightedly. "You've never had it? Oh my God it's so good! It's a Korean—"

The elevator doors opened again and Happy stepped out. His eyes darted cautiously around the room, taking in the barely concealed scowl on Steve's face, to the smirk on Natasha's, and then to Pepper's welcoming smile. He sucked in a breath and side-stepped closer to Pepper. "Tony leave already?"

"Yeah, he went to pick up Bruce. I was just telling these two that we should have bulgogi for lunch."

Happy's face relaxed measurably. "Oh yeah let's do it. Hot for you, mild for me—Natalie, you want hot or mild?"

"Hot please, extra sesame seeds."

"Copy that. Captain, hot or mild?"

"I don't even know what it—uh how hot is hot?"

Everyone groaned. "If you need to ask 'how hot is hot' then you can't handle hot!" Pepper told him, laughing.

Steve felt a blush creep up his neck and he shifted uncomfortably. "Okay… well I like spicy food, but—"

"You've never had Korean spicy. You'll die," Natasha informed him matter-of-factly. Then she said in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Get him mild Happy, just like yours."

Steve crossed his arms, feeling a little 'thrown under the bus,' as Sam would put it. As Happy and Pepper fell into a rapid-fire discussion about which side dishes they should order, Natasha curled a warm hand around his bicep and tugged gently.

A conciliatory smile was gracing her lips when he glanced down at her. Steve knew that she knew they'd all just used his ignorance as an icebreaker and she was apologizing for that now in her own way. "You'll thank me later when your mouth isn't on fire."

"I'm never going to find out what it is, am I?"

Her green eyes sparkled mischievously. "I don't answer questions, remember?"

* * *

**1230 HOURS**

IFC Stark Tower 3

Yeongdeungpo-gu, Seoul, South Korea

Natasha reached across the table and stole the last mushroom from Steve's otherwise empty plate. "I don't know what I just ate, but it was delicious," he contented with a sigh.

"Are you sure you won't take some wine, Captain?"

"Just Steve, ma'am. And no thank you, I stopped drinking a long time ago. My metabolism burns it right up, so I didn't much see the point."

"Well there's a lot more to a good drink than getting a buzz. And you can call me Pepper, Steve." When he nodded in acquiescence, she continued. "It's all about the taste and how it pairs with the food. For example, a good Mourvèdre, like this one, harmonizes beautifully with rich red meat. An extra dry Viognier cuts through the fat in a creamy pasta sauce or a tawny port can make a bread pudding sing."

Steve was impressed by her passion as well as her knowledge. "Where I come from you either drank to warm your belly or forget your troubles."

"Oh Steve," Pepper said with not-so-mock sadness, "you have so much to learn. But in the meantime, you'll just have to trust me." She picked up his empty wine glass and poured him a sample of the dark, velvety red wine and held it out to him. Shrugging but intrigued, Steve gingerly took the proffered glass from her. As he was putting it to his lips Pepper tisked in affront.

He looked up sharply at Pepper and then shot a confounded glance at Natasha who sat leaning back in her chair, watching him with mild amusement. "You're supposed to sniff it before you drink."

Steve made a face at her. "What?"

"Swirl and sniff," Happy demonstrated.

Steve frowned at him and then looked again to Natasha for an explanation. "It enhances the bouquet."

"The _what_?"

"The bouquet—just try it," Pepper said in exasperation. Apparently he was a trying student. Steve did as he was bid. He swirled, he sniffed—tried not to wrinkle his nose—and took a swig.

"Now smack your lips!" Pepper ordered.

Now this just seemed like bad table manners, but he complied anyway. Everyone stared at him, waiting. Steve took another sip and smacked again, eyebrows raising.

"Well," Pepper asked, excitement creeping into her voice, "what do you taste?"

"Hmm, I taste plum? And it's kind of… _earthy_." He swiped a finger through the sauce around the edge of his plate and licked it off. The two flavors twinned together and struck a harmonious note in his mouth. He hummed his approval.

"I take that to mean you like the pairing?" Pepper asked with satisfaction.

"Mmm, I do! Would you pour me another glass, please?"

Hand over her heart, Pepper beamed with a pride normally reserved for parents witnessing their child's first steps. "Steve, it would be my greatest pleasure."


	7. Chapter 7: Short End

**Chapter 7: Short End**

**1400 HOURS**

IFC Stark Tower 3

Yeongdeungpo-gu, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

"He trusts you," Pepper said, "I can see it. Is there… _something else_?"

Natasha snorted a laugh and shook her head. "No, but if we didn't trust each other by now, we'd have both been dead a while ago."

"And so would we. Tony showed me the reports from D.C."

Natasha nodded and they both lapsed back into a comfortable silence. Her life had been in a tailspin since D.C. and she tried not to think on it too much. S.H.I.E.L.D had once been a safe haven for her, a place that stood for honor and justice. It had been the first place she'd felt she could remotely call home in a long, long time.

Having been part of that lie made her ill and it kept her mind going round and round in circles, analyzing all of her past missions, her directives, the targets. It was a futile attempt to sort the necessary 'good' from the evil. How many people had she assassinated in the name of HYDRA?

Natasha's ledger had already been scored with the red of those she _knew_ she'd murdered. But now how deep did it go? How would she ever know who those people had been? The count… the count would be staggering. _So-much-red_.

"Hey, sweety are you OK?" Pepper touched a warm hand to Natasha's back. She and Natasha sat on the balcony watching the sun dip past the skyscrapers as the day deepened into late afternoon. Steve had politely retired to his room shortly after lunch, admitting that he wanted to take a nap before the rest of the team arrived. It had taken all of Natasha's willpower not to make an old man joke—but he was just such an easy target.

Natasha twisted her mug of hot tea in her hands. "Yeah, I'm OK," she lied.

It was easier to lie than to tell the truth. Honestly, where would she even begin? It was all such a mess. Clint was the only one who really knew who she was. He'd stuck by her in the dark days and had pulled her out of them—and she owed him _everything_. And then there was Steve… He wanted her to let him be her friend, a _real_ friend. If she was honest with herself, she longed for a friend, but was too terrified to reveal who she was to anyone. She'd worn a mask for so long that she wasn't sure what would be underneath it if she ever took it off.

Steve was the first person in a long time who made her want to do just that. But then, she was a coward wasn't she? And most probably, a monster.

"Natalie, I'm here if you need someone, even if it's just to listen. I won't pretend like I understand the world you live in, or what you've been through. But if you need to lean on someone," Pepper leaned over and nudged Natasha with her shoulder, "then try me. I'm a lot stronger than I look."

Natasha's mouth opened and closed in mute surprise. "Am I that transparent?"

Pepper laughed. "No, not to most people, but I live with a clown who likes to show off all the time and pretend like everything's okay even when our house is literally getting blown up around our ears. You learn how to spot the chinks pretty quick."

"Thanks Pepper, if I ever do need to talk then…"

"You'll know where to find me. Just look up the tallest building in whatever city you're in with the letter _S_ on it. I swear, before I started dating Tony, I always thought he was um ya know…"

"Compensating?"

"Totally," Pepper gave a breathy laugh.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "And?"

Pepper grinned wickedly and leaned in to whisper. "Well, he definitely has a—"

"My ears are burning, someone's talking about me."

The two women turned to see Tony Stark striding through the living room with Bruce Banner trailing behind him. Happy pulled up the rear juggling a few suitcases, looking winded.

"Another time," Pepper whispered to Natasha and then left the balcony to greet Stark and Bruce. Natasha watched as Pepper kissed Stark lightly on the lips. Stark pulled back from her and sniffed ostentatiously around her face and then lifted her hands holding them close to his nose and made a show of sniffing those as well.

He frowned in distaste. "Why do you smell like _spy_?"

Pepper rolled her eyes and pushed him away. "Shut up Tony. Bruce," she said, moving to envelop the physicist in a light hug—which he clumsily returned, "it's so good to see you again! We missed you at the Christmas party, you know."

"Ah yeah," Bruce said, "sorry about that. I had some business I had to take care of. Maybe next time."

"He met a woman," Stark mock-whispered to her, making Bruce blush.

Pepper tuned back to Bruce. "You what?! Why didn't you tell me? Who is she? Do I know her? Is it serious? When am I meeting her?"

"Ahh…" he hedged uncomfortably and then looked around the room for rescue. His eyes landed on Natasha who was standing just inside the balcony doorway, mug in hand, feeling tired but amused. Bruce's eyes lit up with relief and he waved at her awkwardly. "Natasha, it's been a while!" Bruce called out. His voice had a pleading note to it. Natasha's amusement soured a little as all eyes locked on her, but she forced herself to smile back and then greet Stark.

"I knew I smelled spy," Stark muttered with a smirk. "Wait, you changed your hair! Blonde, really? C'mon, now I can't call you Lil Red! Do you know how long it took me to think up that nickname? 0.17 seconds. Wasted time Romanoff."

"What can I say? I like to make a man work."

"Mreow, sassy pants. So where's Old Man Winter? 0.06 seconds, just in case you were wondering. I got more."

"Tony," Pepper said, and slapped him on the shoulder, "play nice!"

"I am playing nice! I took the restrictions off of her entering the buildings again. Didn't I J.A.R.V.I.S.?"

"Most certainly, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. "I was instructed to add Agent Romanoff to your list of comrades and friends."

"Okay whoa whoa, I don't remember saying anything about _friends_," Stark quickly rebutted.

"Sir, it was shortly after the Battle of New York. You were speaking with Ms. Potts about your newfound admiration for Agent Romanoff and conceding to her that you may have been hasty in your judgment."

Stark shot a glance at Natasha who just smiled back at him from under her lashes. Hasty in his judgment? Admiration? Well now, this was getting good. Natasha folded her arms and leaned her shoulder against the wall, continuing to watch the byplay.

"I think there's a glitch in your matrix buddy, remind me to take a look later," he replied in casual dismissal.

"I assure you that my matrix efficiency is functioning at 100% optimization. In fact, you made those comments shorty after a prolonged consummation period with Ms. Potts amid the—"

"Got it!" Stark bellowed over the A.I., clapping his hands together with a thunderous _smack!_

Natasha, who was now enjoying herself thoroughly, barely managed to choke down an unexpected crow of laughter. Bruce looked at them all, grinning widely, and asked, "So, you guys just let him watch you while you, ya know…?"

"Oh my God," Pepper mumbled into her hands, her face turning a deep shade of crimson.

Stark's eyes were screwed shut in utter horror, and Natasha felt she would burst from suppressed laughter. It wasn't often that she got to witness Tony Stark getting the short end of the stick. "This—this is why you don't get invited to parties, big guy," Stark said.

"Really? And here I was thinking it was my propensity to explode into a butt-naked, green rage monster! So you're telling me it's my small talk? Because if it's my small talk, then that would be a serious relief!"

Natasha gave in to the laughter and Pepper followed suit, clearly in spite of herself. She looked around the room at her comrades, each one breaking out into sheepish grins, and realized with a start that she felt totally at ease. When had _that_ happened?

"Damn, I missed somethin' good didn't I?"

Natasha looked up and saw Clint Barton standing just outside of the group dressed in civies, his black bugout bag and a long slender case slung over his shoulder. The group shared looks with each other, glanced back at Clint and then began laughing again. And it felt _good_.

* * *

**...**


	8. Chapter 8: Assembly Required

**Chapter 8: Assembly Required**

**.**

**1930 HOURS**

IFC Stark Tower 3

Yeongdeungpo-gu, Seoul, South Korea

* * *

Steve was very aware of how close Barton was standing to Natasha. The way she looked at him and shared a smile, a smile they only gave to each other. The way Barton nudged her with his shoulder or muttered an aside to her that made her chuckle.

It made his stomach knot up. And once again, he felt alone in a crowd. Steve stared down into his wine glass, his earlier enthusiasm for the drink waning.

"It's a bit awkward isn't it?"

Steve looked up sharply. He hadn't even heard Dr. Banner approach. "I beg your pardon?"

Banner gestured around the room. "Awkward. You know, when everybody pairs up. And then you're kind of left on the fringe. Not unwelcome, but not exactly invited either."

Steve gave a noncommittal grunt. "You get used to it after a while. They don't mean to do it. It's just natural to gravitate towards people you have something in common with, I guess." He glanced at Banner and then mentally cursed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that no one—that people don't have anything—"

Banner barked a laughed. "Relax Captain, didn't take it that way. Though it's true, regardless. People tend to get a bit nervous when they find out you can shapeshift into a monster at the drop of a dime."

"Or that you're a Super Solider straight outta the 1940's."

"See, I would think that'd be a great conversation starter. 'Hi, my name's Steve Rogers and I spent 70 years in an ice tomb after sacrificing myself to save the planet. So what do you do for a living?'"

Steve laughed and clapped Banner on the shoulder. He'd never been able to find humor in his circumstance before, and now he was grateful for the levity. "I'll have to try it out at the next function Tony puts on. Natasha keeps telling me I need to stop being modest."

"Speak of the devil and she shall appear," Banner muttered.

Natasha glided over with Barton close at her side. "Now, now Doc. Those are fightin' words," she told him with a wink.

Banner grinned and bowed his head as if to say, _touché_. "So where've you been since the fallout, Clint?"

Barton shared a glance with Natasha. "Up in the sky, here, there. You know how it is."

"Do I? I tend to stay on one place more often than not. Open spaces and all that." They all knew what Banner was implying. It wouldn't be wise to put the Hulk into a confined space for too long.

"How bout you, Cap?" Barton asked. "Haven't seen much of you in the news lately. There was a rumor in the Underground that somebody saw you and your buddy in Europe."

This time it was Steve who shared a look with Natasha. "I've been laying low for the last while. You know how it is."

The doctor snorted. "You guys are too mysterious for me. Cloak and daggers."

Natasha shrugged. "Me, I prefer a tactical suit and a Glock 26. Less mess."

Suddenly the room gave a violent shake and Steve heard Pepper shriek in surprise. All loud _thunk_ resounded somewhere on the rooftop and they all turned their eyes upward.

"Guess Boomy's finally here," Stark muttered into the silence.

"Boomy?" Steve asked, frowning in confusion.

"Seriously Spangles? Maybe you're goin' deaf in your old age if you haven't notice that Thor thunder-screams through all of his sonnets." Then Stark spread his arms wide and said in a loud voice, "MY FRIENDS! I COMEST TO YOU FROM THE MAGICAL WORLD OF ASGARD! THOU WILST JOIN WITH ME IN A DRINK TO CELEBRATE OUR MIGHTY CONGREGATION!"

Just then Thor, dressed in his red cape and silvery armor, stomped down the steps that lead up to the roof. Steve had to admit that he cut a dashing figure and was still more than a little awed by the fact that he was again in the presence of what amounted to be an extraterrestrial. Thor stopped midway down the stairs and raised Mjölnir high over his head. "My friends! I have come to you—"

For once, Thor's thunderous voice was overwhelmed by the sound of everyone laughing.

.

* * *

"You are a welcome sight, my friend!" Thor pounded Steve on the back with enough force to knock some of his wind out. He knew that the others had counseled Thor on being gentler with humans, as they were more fragile than his kind, but if this was the big man's idea of being gentle, then he hated to think what a _real_ friendly thump would have felt like.

Gasping quietly, Steve grinned at Thor's unbridled joy and clasped arms with him. The thunder god had changed into what he'd taken to calling 'Midgardian attire,' a slate gray, long-sleeved T-shirt over dark jeans. At one time Steve had made a comment to Stark about how Thor dressed funny in his cape and armor, but now it seemed strange to see the man in street clothes. "It's good to see you, Thor. How's Jane?"

Thor's grin grew wider. "Jane? Why, Jane is well! And lovely and fair," he boomed. "And her voice warms my soul-spirit like a Golden Faxi flying in the rays of the sun!"

"A Golden what now?"

"You do not have Golden Faxis?" he frowned. "Truly, your tiny planet is—"

"Spangles!"

Steve turned around to see Tony Stark sauntering towards him, sipping delicately at his mimosa. The man swaggered as if he owned every inch of ground he stepped upon. _Well, he kinda does own what he's stepping on, _Steve thought. They were in his Tower after all. But that didn't stop the old feeling of distaste for the man's elaborate eccentricities from flaring briefly.

He nodded to Stark all the same and admitted to himself that he was pleased to see him again. "Stark," he said, "nice place you got here." That was a gross understatement.

"You mean, nice place _we've_ got here."

"Sorry?"

"They didn't tell you? Oh right, Stormy was booming your ears out about Lady Jane the Maiden Fair."

"Yes Stark, Jane is quite fair!" Thor exclaimed. Stark frowned and Steve smiled. Thor still hadn't yet grasped the subtleties of sarcasm.

"So I met your flying friend."

"Who?"

"Sam Wilson, who else? I think I'll call him Buzzy or Flappy, nah that's too clique. I'll think of something."

"When did you meet Sam? Where is he? Is he alright?"

"Calm down Spangles. We're recruiting him."

"_Recruiting_? Who is 'we'?"

Stark nodded. "We'll touch base on that later." He turned and gestured to the rest of the group who were scattered about the living room chatting. "Gather round freaks and geeks, we've got some business to attend to."

Barton, Natasha and the others stopped their conversations and came to form a circle with Steve and Stark.

"Yeah, I for one would like to know what this illustrious group is supposed to be doing. Did you call us together because you saw some more alien friends coming to destroy the Earth through your Starky Telescope?" Banner asked.

"_Starkus_, it's called the Starkus Telescope. Nineteen point five times greater deep-space viewing than that rusted lump from NASA. I can _just_ make out the mole on Odin's ass from my rooftop." Stark eyed Banner up and down and then smirked. "You're gettin' feistier my dear Dr. Banner—I like it."

"The Allfather has no such moles," Thor rumbled quietly.

"Oh?" Stark countered. "So you've been in the presence of the Almighty's noble tail? Must be a sight."

"Careful there, Stark," Clint warned with a wicked glance at Thor. Thor's expression had darkened. He _definitely _needed to get a grasp on sarcasm before Stark got himself smashed to death with Mjölnir.

"So what's going on?" Steve was growing impatient and was pleased that he kept it out of his voice—mostly.

Stark turned to him and smiled. "Now why would I know that? Nobody tells me anything—I've got to sleuth everything out on my own."

"Can't be all that hard with Maria Hill working for you," Barton commented.

Stark raised his glass in salute. "True, but that doesn't mean I get _all_ the secrets. That would be very un-spy like of her. In any case I have a proposal while we wait on our last guest."

"Who else is coming?" Natasha asked. Steve noticed her tense slightly and he wondered at that.

"I propose," Stark began, pausing meaningfully, "that we team up—_permanently_."

No one spoke.

"No response?" Stark looked around at all of them. "I'm talkin' _the Avengers_."

"Thought that was a one-time gig," Banner said. "And in case you haven't noticed, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s dead."

"Dead, but not quite buried. Pepper, if you would?" Pepper smiled at him and left the room.

"But how would we function? And why?" Banner asked.

"Well, we would be bankrolled by _moi_ and—"

"—lead by you?" Steve cut in. He couldn't quite nail the look of indifference that schooled Natasha's features.

Stark sighed dramatically. "Must you always be so distrustful, Mr. America? Not run by me, run by us. Five heads of state, if you will. Studies have proven that five brains are better than one. Though I do have the brains _and_ the money so I should probably get like two package vetoes."

Pepper walked back into the room carrying a file. "Mr. Stark," she said with a sultry demureness and handed him the file.

"Thank you Ms. Potts." Stark tapped the file once and holographic footage floated in the middle of the circle. It showcased the five of them fighting Loki and the Chitauri. Then it played footage of Steve, Natasha and Sam battling HYDRA agents on the streets of D.C.

Stark let them take it before he continued. "We needed a _team_ to fight Loki. We needed a _team_ to fight in D.C. How much easier would it have been if we'd all been ready for the S.H.I.E.L.D. fallout? Maybe they'd still be in operation." Stark gestured at the footage. "What do you see, people? I see us getting drilled. Sure we won, but what about the next time or the time after that? All of you know that this is just the beginning; these hits aren't going to stop coming. Retiring on a sandy beach flew out the window the moment each of us suited up.

The point is, we can't keep getting caught with our pants down every time a disaster comes knocking at our door. This time—ding dong, who's there?" Stark punched a finger into the air, "It's the freakin' Avengers."

"Yeah!" Happy cried, clapping with enthusiasm.

"Thank you Happy. I was in the moment, wasn't I?"

Steve nodded to himself, seeing the point in Stark's words. They had been reacting to chaos on both occasions. But, with a real team in place they could call the shots, rather than take them.

"So you called us here. What's waiting on the doorstep?" Steve asked.

With a swipe of his hand, Stark made the hologram vanish. "I didn't and I don't know. I was asked to gather everyone together—quietly. That's all I got."

"The surprise guest?" Barton asked.

"Our handler," Stark said, smiling mysteriously. "You'll get a kick out of it, trust me."

Banner looked around the group. "So we're really doing this, guys?"

"It is my duty to protect Midgard, and I think this is a fine plan," Thor remarked.

Stark cleared his throat. "And," he said, "if anybody needs to be leading us, then it's gotta be you Cap."

_Me? _All eyes turned on Steve. Did Stark really just vote for him?

Natasha shared a look with Barton who shrugged. Then she looked at Steve, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Sounds dandy."

Steve felt every pair of eyeballs weighing him and he froze. Could he really lead these people? He was a leader, but they weren't even soldiers. Would Stark actually take orders from him or just go off and do his own thing? How far could they trust Banner? When Banner was a man, he was cool and reasonable, but when he changed… calling him unpredictable and dangerous wouldn't begin to cover it. Thor was a technically a soldier, but he was also a warlord used to leading his own people. And then there was Barton and Natasha—cloak and dagger.

After pondering these questions Steve was surprised to find that he had no doubt he could lead this crew. _His_ crew.

Steve straightened unconsciously and raised his chin. He looked at each member of his team, meeting their eyes and seeking their approval. He found it. The anticipatory tension in the room evaporated instantly and Steve found himself smiling. Natasha gave him a wink and Thor walked through the circle and clapped him hard on the shoulder. Steve grunted, trying desperately not to let his knees buckle.

Still grasping Steve by the shoulder, Thor turned toward the group and raised Mjölnir into the air. The room rumbled and Mjölnir crackled with silvery lightening. "To Captain America! To the Mighty Avengers!"

Looking around at the smiles and nods of respect, Steve felt like he did when he was back in the war. Now he had a true purpose, he felt wanted and it made all the difference. Natasha sidled up next to him, brushing her arm against his. He looked down into her green eyes, unconsciously searching for something in their depths.

She gave him one of her rare smiles and asked, "You ready to lead us into the fray, Cap?"

He gave her a warm smile of his own. "Always."

Stark wrapped an arm around Pepper's waist and raised his glass to the group. "Now, all we need is—"

"Sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. cut in, "your guest has arrived. Shall I send him in?"

"Send 'im up Jarvis!" Stark took Pepper by the hand and lead her towards the elevator. "Come hither children, Christmas just came early."

Steve and Natasha followed, along with the others. He was inwardly pleased to see that she still stood close by his side, instead of Barton's. There was a hushed moment when the elevator dinged. An instant later the doors slid open and revealed the man standing inside. When Steve realized who he was looking at, he was too stunned to notice that his mouth had completely dropped open.

"Son of a bitch," Barton muttered in disbelief, as Phil Colson stepped into the room.


End file.
